“What’s on your arm? Georgi, what is that on your arm?! What did you do???” My mother’s voice quavered as she pulled up the rest of the long sleeve I had so carelessly forgotten to tug down when washing the dishes. 41 cuts. 41 cleanly sliced lines, criss-crossing from...
Dear George Orwell, Your dystopian masterpieces haunted my transition from adolescence to adulthood. Despite my intense and lifelong passion for people, 1984 and Animal Farm made me question the good I naively thought resided in every human. But nothing could prepare me for your self-imposed exile into poverty. I...
There it was. The ultimate treasure chest. Her grandma’s awe-inspiring shoe collection, shimmering in the room that served as her closet, just waiting to be discovered in all its glory. She double-checked to make sure the coast was clear and pulled out the first pair she could get her...